


The Fortress I Have Built

by Contraband (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agoraphobia, Anxiety Attacks, Avengers Feels, Bottom Steve Rogers, Depressed Tony Stark, Depression, Domestic Avengers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Isolation, Mental Health Issues, Neurodiversity, Panic Attacks, Steve Needs a Hug, Tony Angst, Tony Being Tony, Tony Feels, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony-centric, bereavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:21:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Contraband
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since his father's death, Tony's lived in solitude, refusing to participate in most social venues, and throwing himself into his work more than ever. Being part of a team effort like the Avengers doesn't appeal to his misanthropic side. Sure, he used to enjoy working with others and celebrating discovery, invention, and accomplishment. But now... things were so different. Was he ready to leave his fortress again?</p><p>May or may not be completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Non-negotiable

**Author's Note:**

> The tags regarding mental health stuff are only suggestions. I know some of my headcanon for Tony's mental conditions in this story, but some are ambiguous. I can definitively say, however, that he does experience neurodiversity, and that you are free to interpret beyond that! <3

"No," I tapped my drawing pencil against the table for emphasis.

Fury, not quite living up to his name, remained calm -- in that "I can barely stand your fucking face.... you darrrrling child" kind of way. "I don't think you understand, Tony--"

"This is non-negotiable." I turned around, surveying the neon city through one-way glass.

"You are the last one," his voice strained with the effort to keep it level. "If Thor can leave his home, I think you can."

I just focused on the lights, counting the buildings, until in the distance all the lights blended together. "I think you need a dictionary, Director. Non-negotiable means not-gonna-happen. So you can go back to wherever your home is now. Thanks for stoppi--"

His hand was on my shoulder and I did a one-eighty faster than I think either of us expected. "Don't touch me!" My tone was much less controlled now, and I shook with restraint.

Fury stepped back a pace, hands open-palmed at his sides. I will never forget the way he looked at me. Like I was some kind of feral animal. But one he was determined to get under control. "This isn't about inconvenience, is it?"

I just glared for a moment longer. Then whatever it is in my brain that clicks clicked, and I looked away, at my workbench. "I can't leave, Nick. I just can't. This is where I live, and I can't change that."

"This is your fortress," Fury's eye narrowed, and I remembered why I let him drag me into all this in the first place. "You've built it from the ground up. I know that."

"So, tell me where I would be better off. Nowhere, that's where," I grumbled awkwardly, unable to muster the energy to say anything biting.

He sat on the edge of my bench. If he'd been almost anyone else, I would have pitched a fit all over again. But it was Nick Fury, and all I did was brace myself for the inevitable lecture I could see formulating. "Tony, I know you don't trust me, or the others. That's why it is so important that you all come together. You will never get past this, unless you make steps towar--"

"Get past what, exactly?" I demanded. "What do I need to get past?"

"You're inability to keep from interrupting, for one thing." His patience grated against my restlessness, and I gritted my teeth. "They don't trust you either, or one another. I don't trust you. But we are trying to change that. If you do your part, we can see this through to something truly great."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes like a teenager. "And what would be so great about us all in one place, huh? What if we kill each other? That would kind of defeat your little masterplan."

Fury laughed then, and my cheeks burned. It was a legitimate worry. But still, there was some amount of relief in seeing him smile. It meant we were "right" again. "Tony Stark. You cannot tell me you're worried about getting torn up by them. What happened to all that bravado you showed last month?"

"I'm not afraid of them," I said carefully, that bit of steel coming into my voice, just like it always did when people wrongly accused me of things. "I'm afraid for them. Maybe not from me. But put a bunch of testosterone-high guys with hammers and lasers and shit in a place together, and expect them to share washrooms, and you're going to get some holes in the wall."

The mental image seemed to amuse him, but he quickly sobered. "You are right, of course. Which is why it must be done. I need you to work together now, when there is no threat. Otherwise, under pressure, we would have no hope of synergy."

"So I'll have Pepper invite them over for cocktails."

"They're inviting you. And I wouldn't say no, Tony. We have a contract." There it was. The contract.

I surveyed the lab quietly for a moment, drinking in my work, my father's work, the company. My eyes rested on the Jarvis interface. "Where are the little shits, anyway?"

"L.A."

"I'll go for two days," I decided. "Jarvis, send Ms. Potts a memo to pack me a bag." 

"Yes, sir."

I ran a hand through my hair and tried to hide my anxiety at the thought of leaving the tower. It seemed like every time I went out, something awful happened. The same was the case, incidentally, any time Nick Fury appeared. The two combined? Not wise.

"Rogers will be pleased," Fury said, barely loud enough for me to hear. Then he turned and left the lab without another word. I just stood there, mind whirling. Why did he always win? Apparently I was the one who needed the dictionary, because I had greatly exaggerated what I meant by "non-negotiable."


	2. Chapter 2

                I’d been to L.A. before, though I had to admit, it had been a while. The idea of being around so many people, even for a couple days, didn’t appeal to me. I leaned heavily on the hope that the building Fury had assigned us to would be as secluded as my own – after all, he’d want to keep us safe from prying eyes.

                I’d done some research on the address he gave me, and was not surprised to find that it was for an upscale hotel. He had let me know that the entire top floor was booked for us. Upon looking the hotel’s website up, I found that this would include six suites, a lounge area, and a small Jacuzzi and exercise hotspot, as well as daily meals served in the sitting room. Nice.

                At the doors, workers offered to take my luggage. I wished for Pepper. She would have told them it was all handled. Fury, however, had insisted that none of us were to bring non-contracted individuals into the mix. I found this nearly debilitating. I let the staff take my things, and one of them directed me to the front desk for check-in, which was as simple as letting them know I was Stark, flashing my ID and a nervous grin. Then I bee-lined for the elevator. Floor 12, what a pain.

                The ride up there was ridiculous. I felt cornered, and the idea of the doors opening after a countdown, putting me in plain sight of the others was not welcome. As the numbers counted up, I counted down in my mind, so that when it hit the 12th floor, I whispered, “zero.”

                Nobody was outside the doors. Which made sense, of course. Why would there be? I remembered the number Fury’d given me, but checked my notes anyway. Then I made my way to suite 3B. I keyed in and looked around, uncomfortable with the eerie silence of the place. The walls were a muffled red, the floor greyish carpet, and there was a small sitting area with a plasma TV dominating, adjoined by a kitchenette. Off of this was a doorway that led into what I assumed would be the bedroom.

                I was startled, upon heading that direction, to nearly run headlong into a wall of muscle in the form of Captain Rogers. “Shit,” I said lamely.

                “Sorry!” He said automatically, even though we hadn’t actually collided. “I didn’t realize you’d be here so early.” There was an awkward pause where we both stood in the doorway. Then he stepped back into the bedroom, apparently suggesting I should too. I moved inside, looking around for any other exits from the room.

                “I’m glad you came,” he was saying. I noted that there were two other doors off of this room: one undoubtedly led to the master bathroom, the other could be to another bedroom. I hoped so.

                “Fury didn’t mention roommates.”

                He looked disappointed at my bluntness. “He’s assigned us in pairs. I talked to ‘Tasha, and she confirmed we’re all with at least one other person. There hasn’t been an official meeting yet,” he ran a hand through his blond hair, looking apologetic. “But I assume it’s to help us keep from self-segregation.”

                We had met once before, and I’d seen records on him. I assumed Rogers had seen mine too. I was glad that, at least, if we had to be paired up, it was him and not Thor. After all, if nothing else, Rogers _was_ American.

                “I have some coffee brewed in the kitchen,” Rogers offered. “I made a big pot in case anyone stopped by.”

                _And the award for quickest into housewife mode goes to_ … I shook my head. “Thanks, I had plenty before coming over, actually.” Truth was, I’d been avoiding caffeine all day in an effort to keep my nerves tamed.

                “Oh.” He shrugged and wandered back out to the living area.

                A couple of seconds later, the man with my bags arrived, apologizing for the delay. I took them, but left them by the sofa until I assessed better where Rogers intended to stay. He watched me stand there, looking around, and I felt myself warm, just a little. I coughed.

                He shuffled a little, and seated himself on the sofa. “I know it probably feels like a waste of time, following Fury’s plan blindly, and playing house together at his whim. But—“

                “You’re right, it does,” I interrupted, feeling on edge at his point-blank addressing of the situation. “This is stupid, pointless, wasting my time, and frankly, plain annoying. I don’t know about you, but I stopped playing house when I was – oh wait, I never played at all.”

                He said nothing, to my disappointment. The frustration that had surfaced in me had nowhere to go, now, and I felt like a jackass. I grabbed my bags and yanked them towards the bedroom. Forget finding out what his plans had been. I’d claim the bigger one and let him have the back. If it wasn’t another bedroom, there was always that damn sofa.


End file.
